


Pains, Labor and Otherwise

by loudmouthgeek



Category: Glee
Genre: Depictions of Child Birth, F/F, Rachel Berry/Santana Lopez Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 05:45:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/606441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loudmouthgeek/pseuds/loudmouthgeek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"None of this is supposed to be happening. Rachel isn’t even due for another month (or three and a half weeks, whatever). Quinn is supposed to be back by then. Hell, she’s supposed to be back on fucking Monday, assuming the airports are back open then. She’s the one who knows what the fuck she’s doing here. She’s the one who trained to do this shit, not me. This ridiculous home birth thing had been their stupid idea."</p><p>Taken from the prompt "Fababy on the way, can't get to the hospital. Santana has to deliver instead." Faberry/Brittana relationships, Pezberry friendship. Santana's POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pains, Labor and Otherwise

**Author's Note:**

> So there's a fairly round about origin story for this. It started with wanting to do something for Faberry Week on Tumblr but none of the prompts really sparked anything creatively, so I thought I'd just do something for Faberry Week. I found this prompt (although I've now lost the source on it, if it's yours and you want credit let me know), "Fababy on the way, can't get to the hospital. Santana has to deliver instead" and started writing, but now it has very little actual Faberry content and it's almost entire a Pezberry friendship story with their romantic relationships relegated to the background. Hope you still enjoy.

“SANTANAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!”

Holy shit, Berry’s in fucking labor! This is _not_ supposed to happen like this. I’m just supposed to be keeping an eye on her while our better halves are out of town shooting for Brittany’s short film. Like I understood that keeping an eye on a pregnant woman on bed rest meant tending her every needy need and I didn’t really like it but you do shit for family that you don’t necessarily want to do. Thankfully the baby cravings have temporarily suspended Rachel’s veganism or I never would have agreed to spend a week in a house with no meat or animal products, but apparently my nephew is a future carnivore.

My nephew, that’s all I’m supposed to be to him, his awesome Aunt Tana who takes him for chili dogs and funnel cakes, who plays laser tag with him and sneaks him into R rated movies before he’s old enough, who buys him his first skateboard and his first shot of tequila. I’m not supposed to be his fucking midwife.

None of this is supposed to be happening. Rachel isn’t even due for another month (or three and a half weeks, whatever). Quinn is supposed to be back by then. Hell, she’s supposed to be back on fucking Monday, assuming the airports are back open then. She’s the one who knows what the fuck she’s doing here. She’s the one who trained to do this shit, not me. This ridiculous home birth thing had been their stupid idea. I’d load Berry’s pregnant ass into the truck and take her to the hospital right now except one, I don’t want her fucking water breaking all over my backseat and two, the nine and half inches of snow on the ground outside (and still accumulating). That same blizzard has all the bridges and tunnels and the airports closed.

“Help me, please,” Rachel implores once the pain of the contraction subsides.

“Cut the shit, Berry! You aren’t having your baby now!” I suspect that maybe my initial instincts aren’t the best. This suspicion is confirmed when tears spring forth in twin rivers running down Rachel’s cheeks. I usually suck at dealing with crying women. At this point I really just suck in general. “God, I’m sorry, Rachel. I’m flying blind here and I panicked, okay? I’m sorry. Can I please take you to the hospital now? They’ve got to have a helicopter, right?”

“NO!” she yells, “Daniel is coming into this world in a place full of love and warmth, not sickness, disease, and death. We planned for this. We’re prepared for this.”

“You and _Quinn_ prepared for delivery at full term,” I correct her, “but she’s not here, you’re in pre-term labor, and I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. There could be complications, Rachel, for you and for him. I really think we need to go to the hospital.”

“No,” she repeats, “We were ready for this too. I’m a low risk pregnancy. I’ve had more tests run than I can remember that all say I’m okay to deliver at home. I’m three days short of being 37 weeks which is usually considered safe to give birth.” There’s a long heavy moment of silence between us because none of that has made me any more competent to deliver this baby. “Damn it, why isn’t Quinn here? She knows what to do.”

Remarkably, despite all the snow, Rachel and Quinn’s place still has power and cell and internet service, unlike mine and Britt’s place, so I say, “Well, call her then. Meanwhile, I’ll call your OB and try to get her to convince you that you need to go to the hospital.” Before she can respond, I grab her phone and hand her mine, since my phone doesn’t have her doctor’s number in it.

But like, fucking of course they chose an OB who would say that it’s okay for Rachel to deliver at home. She also lives in Queens so we’re pretty well fucked on any chance of her getting here to help or even just to do this shit entirely. I’d be like infinitely less concerned if this wasn’t all on me. I am so never telling my papa that I had to deliver my friends’ baby. I will never hear the end of how much he thinks I should go back to medical school.

Rachel comes waddling out of their bedroom for what’s likely the first time in almost a week. She’s on the phone apparently running through a checklist with Quinn about how she feels and how far apart the contractions are. Slowly, she makes her way into Daniel’s nursery, which is also going to serve as the birthing suite. I mean, come on, that’s weird right? The kid’s going to grow up in the room he was born in?

Anyway, Dr. Lenara says she’ll be willing to video conference in to talk me through any problems I may have, so I grab my laptop and take it in Danny Boy’s room and get it all set up. She says she’ll be on standby and the screen goes dark again.

Rachel’s messing with things that look like surgical instruments and suddenly I’m freaking out about this again. That however is cut short by her having another contraction. I jump quickly to her side, like literally jump as though that would get me there faster than the three steps I would have needed to take, but whatever, I’m there and holding her hand. I really don’t know what to say or do other than that because I’m so out of my depth, so I just look at my watch so we can time these things. I’m not sure if that’s a real medical thing or a TV medical thing but it can’t hurt to try it.

The contraction subsides and she insists she can do things on her own so I let her. I go and find her laptop, bring it in, and set it up because I’m sure she’ll want to actually be able to see Quinn while it’s all going down. I give myself a mental high five for being awesome like that, and then it occurs to me that I’m probably going to need to be able to see and hear Brittany during this whole thing as well. I forage through Quinn’s office and find one of her old iPads and bring into Daniel’s room too.

I boot the thing up and I can’t help but notice that this tablet is fucking old as shit. It’s like an iPad 3 or something. I really fucking hope this dinosaur is still compatible. I’m pretty sure Quinn had this thing in high school. It doesn’t even having any damn voice commands. Eventually I get the thing up and sure enough, Skype still works on it, even though it’s the old shitty version but whatever. I plug the iPad into my laptop since who the fuck knows when the last time this thing was charged or what state the battery is in.

I get all that figured out just in time for contraction number three. She’s right in the middle of trying to re-sterilize their birthing table. I look at my watch again and it’s been about seventeen minutes, so we’ve still got a while to go. The pain passes and I grab a sterilizing wipe and help out. Her next contraction comes as we’re just about finished, fifteen and half minutes after the last.

“Santana,” she says once we’re done, “I’m sorry this is being foisted upon you to do. It’s just very important to me that the first person to hold my son after he is born be someone that loves him. It was supposed to be Quinn, but that’s not going to happen now. I don’t have the training or the pain tolerance to do it myself, so it has to be you. I’m sorry, but neither of us really has any other choice in the matter. It’s inadvisable for us to drive to the hospital which is almost certainly overloaded with emergency cases anyway and I’m nowhere near far enough along to go there even besides, and it’s doubtful that anyone else can get here on short notice. Again, I’m sorry. If I had any other options… well, truthfully, I’d still pick you over anyone besides Quinn, but then I’d be asking you nicely instead of telling you that you must. I know that you doubt your ability to do this, but just know that I don’t.”

I sigh and smile at her and offer a hand to her. “Let’s get you back to bed for a while. It’s probably going to be a while yet before your little dude is ready to pop out.”

____________

Five hours later we’ve sung every song that we’ve ever sang together and a few more that we worked out arrangements to. We’ve watched Funny Girl together for not the first time. She wanted to do The Sound of Music next but I managed to bait her off track with her secret guilty pleasure, trashy reality TV. Rachel calls her dads to let them know that she’s in labor. They know that Quinn is out of town but she reassures them that she found a last minute replacement midwife, though she leaves out that it’s me.

I understand. It’s not that the Daddies Berry don’t like me, hell they fucking love me and why shouldn’t they, but this is their precious baby girl, not to mention their _grandson_ , and they’d probably be freaked if they knew this was all about to go down led by someone who several hours earlier hadn’t the first clue about midwifery. Hell, I’m only marginally less freaked than I was before I started giving myself a crash course in “What to Expect When Your Best Friend’s Wife is Expecting Pretty Much Any Time Now When You’re Snowed in Together and You’re the Default Person to Catch the Little Guy When He Comes Out.”

It’s a good thing I was always a quick study. I’m learning very rapidly about active labor and bloody shows, effacement and centimeters dilated, and it occurs to me that I’m about to get intimately familiar with Rachel Berry’s vagina in a way I never really wanted to. Thus far I’ve been spared because Rachel seems to know how to check her own dilation, but I know I’m going to have to take over that duty soon.

Another contraction comes and goes, this one just under nine minutes since the last one, and it looks like they’re starting to take their toll on Rachel. She checks herself again, under the blanket and she’s still at two and a half centimeters, which I’ve now learned is somewhat slow but not surprising since she’s a first time mother.

“I think I’d like to lie down in the tub for a while now,” she says, “Will you help me?”

“Like run you a warm but not hot bath?” I ask, “I can do that.”

“Well, that would be lovely of you, yes, but I’ll also need your help getting into and out of the bathtub.” And there it is. It shouldn’t feel like as big a thing as it does. Rachel and I have been changing clothes in front of each other since I joined New Directions almost ten years ago, though neither of us have ever been full nude in front of one another. I’m obviously taking too long to answer because she speaks again, “Look while I appreciate that this may be somewhat awkward, it’s going to happen sooner than later because I can’t very well keep my pants on when Daniel begins to emerge.” I still can’t quite come up with anything to say so rather I just get up to go into their en suite bathroom and begin to fill their ridiculously large tub.

I take a moment to really gauge the scope of their bathroom and I’m pretty sure that it’s bigger than their bedroom in place we all lived in together after me and Britt finally moved up here. They’ve been here a little over two years now and I have to wonder why we’ve never had a Jacuzzi and Daiquiris Night in this monstrous tub. We could easily move the TV from their bedroom onto the vanity and watch movies and drink. Of course, with the kid mere hours away, that’s probably not going to happen anytime soon.

I turn away from the tub and I’m startled to find Rachel leaning against the door frame. She hasn’t moved quietly in over two months so my mind must have been really lost in thought just then. “I know my big distended pregnant belly isn’t the most attractive thing in the world but you could just focus on my face… and my boobs. You’ve seen my boobs a dozen times, at least.”

I chuckle at her because that’s certainly true. For years, in a game of Truth-or-Dare my go-to dare for her was to get her to flash her tits, mostly because it embarrasses the shit out of Quinn (Rachel, on the other hand, is fairly shameless), but also because they’re nice tits. I knew I’d never go there but it doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy looking, which sort of goes to the heart of the matter. “That’s not it,” I say, “Kinda the opposite of that, actually.”

“How do you mean?”

“I, uh… I actually think pregnant women are um… really beautiful, hot even,” I admit to her softly.

“And you’re worried about finding me attractive,” she says.

“I’ve found other women attractive before, dork,” I respond, “I’m madly in love and married but neither of those things make me blind. The difference is that… You’re not going to be able to measure your own cervical dilation for much longer which means that I’m going to have to, so the combination of me finding you attractive and me putting my fingers inside you is gonna feel an awful lot like cheating to me. I don’t have the benefit of years of training as a doctor or a midwife or, y’know, heterosexuality to give me a professional detachment here.”

“I’m sorry, Santana. Do…” She stops and sighs, “I _really_ don’t want to go to the hospital… but I-I have even less desire to cause problems for you.”

“No,” I say, repeating myself, “No, we’ll… I don’t know. We’ll get through it, okay?”

I get her settled into the tub, keeping my gazed fixed to the floor while she undresses and pay particular attention to her knees and feet as she steps in. Unfortunately there’s no avoiding the rest of her as I help her get seated and leaned back, and yes, indeed she is just as beautiful _and_ hot as I thought… feared she would be.

________________

“Hey, San,” Brittany says over the phone. I’ve stepped out of the bathroom, out of the bedroom, and into the hall to call her. “How’s everything going?”

“Everything’s fine,” I say, “Rachel and the baby are fine. We just put her in the bath so she could relax a little. The contractions are getting a little intense. A warm bath is supposed to help with that.”

“It always helps me,” Brittany says, “Especially when you’re with me.” I smile at that and start to respond but she starts again first, “How are _you_ doing?”

“It’s… honestly, I don’t even know how I am. One minute we’re both fine and doing our own things, then she’s in labor and we’re hurrying to make sure we’re ready for her to give birth, and then we’ve sat around for hours singing and watching TV as she occasionally goes into body wracking pain. I have no idea what to think.” I say to her in what I’m suddenly aware is a very Rachel Berry-life ramble. “Also, I saw Rachel naked.”

Skipping to the thing she knows has me really messed up in the head she says, “And she was like ridiculous hot right?”

“Kinda,” I say.

“Do I need to buy a brown wig?”

“What?”

“Do I need to stuff a beach ball under my shirt and start walking around on my knees?” I quickly notice that her tone of voice has gone flat monotone, which I, among seemingly only a few people, understand means she’s joking. “Will our love survive, San?”

I can’t help but bust out laughing at her, like laughing so hard that I can barely speak and I think there are tears in my eyes. When people ask me why I love Brittany so much, I no longer emotionally gut them like I once would have, (Hey, we’ve all got to grow up sometime, right?) instead it’s moments like this that I tell them about when I say that she gets me and understands me on a level than no one else does or ever has. “Shut up,” I manage to squeak out between fits of laughter.

“Look, baby,” she begins again when I’ve mostly regained my composure, “I’m just gonna go ahead and take it as a complement that you’re this concerned about us and tell you that you really don’t have anything to worry about. I agree with you that pregnant women are beautiful but there’s nothing sexy about a woman in labor. She’s going to be sweaty and probably crying in pain because there’s no drugs and no Quinn to hold her hand and there’s gonna be fluids coming out of places, places you’re going to spend some time watching very closely. She’s going to be stretched all to hell letting Daniel out. Trust me, San, nothing about anything either of you is about to go through is going to be pleasurable at all.”

“Yeah, okay, I get your point,” I say, “Please stop.” She giggles at me and of course it’s far too adorable for me to even contemplate being mad at her for laughing at me. “You think I can actually do this? Delivery this baby?”

“I know you can do it,” she says without a moment’s hesitation, “I believe in you, Santana.” That phrase is her big gun with me. Coming from her it means fucking everything to me. She breaks it out here and there, whenever I really need a confidence boost. The first time was eight years ago at Junior Prom and the words have lost exactly none of their punch in that time.

“Thank you, Brittany,” I say, “I miss you so fucking much.”

“Aww, I miss you too.”

“SANTANAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!”

“Shit, contraction, I gotta go,” I say, “Sorry I don’t have time to ask about how filming is going.”

“You’ve got bigger concerns right now,” she says. “I love you, Santana.”

“Love you like a love song, baby.”

_____________

Three and a half hours later, we’ve got Rachel back to her bed. I’m sitting in an arm chair next to her. We’ve finished Rent and have moved on to The Sound of Music. Rachel’s watching and I’m sort of half paying attention to it as I go over material that Dr. Lenara has e-mailed me. I feel like I’m back in college cramming for a one of my finals, except that I never actually put _this_ much effort into school. I mean it’s not like anyone’s fucking life was in my hands back then. No one was gonna die if I bombed out my Chem test.

I’m also burying myself in this to try to ignore the fact that Rachel’s wearing a pink terrycloth robe and nothing else. I still haven’t had to go in yet, but it’s only a matter of time now. Despite Brittany’s assurances, I’m still not convinced that this isn’t going to at least make our pseudo-family dynamic extremely awkward for some time to come.

“Santana, who all did you tell that I was in labor?” she asks out of the clear blue.

“Just Brittany and Dr. Lenara, why?”

“Well, I know for certain that I only told Quinn and my fathers,” she said, “So do you care to revise your statement to include how the hell Marley fucking Rose is tweeting me good luck?”

“Perhaps you’ll recall that Marley’s BFF-slash-unrequited love of her life is your wife’s personal assistant.”

“Motherfucking Kitty goddamn Wilde! I will end her!”

“Has labor caused you to develop Tourette Syndrome?” I ask, “If so that’s cool but since you insist that Danny Boy can hear us, you can never, ever blame me if he develops a foul mouth.”

“Don’t call my son ‘Danny Boy’!” She yells. “He’s not some Irish gangster. He’s going to be a prince among men, brilliant and kind and wise and… and… and just fucking _perfect_ , okay?!”

Rachel goes on but I tune her out. This isn’t the first hormone-soaked rant to come from her, nor even the first about the future awesomeness of Daniel, but it’s definitely the most intense. We’ve found it’s usually best just to wait them out and not interrupt lest we just prolong her singing her unborn son’s praises. Rachel has got to be the proudest proud mother in human history, especially considering that he’s technically still like negative four hours old or something.

After a couple of minutes she brings her rant to its conclusion and takes a breath. “Wow!” she sighed, “I’m so sorry about that. That was crazy. I just all of a sudden had a lot of feelings that need to be expressed.”

“No worries.”

“It won’t be long now, will it?”

“Active labor should be really soon,” I say, “But for when Daniel is going to be here, it could still be hours yet.”

“Talk to me,” she demands, “Distract me from just waiting for the next contraction.”

“Okay, umm…” My brain draws an utter blank. I fall back on gossip, an old standard of ours during our reality TV marathons, “Couples that you thought would make it and didn’t?”

“Real or fictional?”

“Either,” I say, “Both.”

“Veronica Mars and Logan Echols,” she says, and I’m gagging already.

“They were fucking horrible for each other,” I say, “A girl with huge trust issues and a guy who is just shady as hell, bad combo.”

“I suppose you wanted Veronica to be with Mac?”

“Yeah, because I was _really_ willing to acknowledge my same sex tendencies when I was eleven and twelve years old,” I say, “Were you not an eyewitness to my denial up through my most of my late teens? I mostly just wanted Veronica and Weevil to blow town and find some cooler people to hang out with, though I’ve got to say that I’d have pegged you as more of a Veronica-Duncan girl considering your romantic history with very tall, dull boys.”

She rolls her eyes at me. Even years on with both of them being married to other women, Rachel still doesn’t take kindly to people disparaging Finn Hudson, although most of the time she doesn’t fight with me about it anymore, just makes her displease known in some way. “They were cute and all but once they introduced even the possibility that he was her brother I just couldn’t look at them the same way,” Rachel says.

I nod in understanding. “Did you know the writers were originally going to have them be brother and sister?” Her eyebrows shoot up. “Yep, but the network nixed it saying they can be brother and sister or they can have sex, can’t have both.”

“I _definitely_ don’t ship them now,” Rachel says, “Your turn.”

“Izzy and George,” I tell her, “Karev was this monumental dick, Denny was dead, I liked Callie better with women and…”

“And they were best friends who fell in love,” Rachel observes.

“That too,” I admit but don’t feel the need to expand this discussion. We’ve both been there. We’ve had that discussion before both on our own and with Marley. It needs no elaboration. “Next?”

“Mike and Tina,” she says.

“From?” I ask before thinking and then scrunch my face in embarrassment as I realize who she’s talking about. There’s no time to discuss it though as another contraction hits her, hard. She grips her stomach and grits her teeth. We’ve started running a stop watch to chart duration so I start that and then observe that it’s been less than six minutes since her last contraction. When the stop watch starts ticking up near 60 seconds and she’s still going something tells me that it is about to be that time.

She finally relaxes again and I click the watch to stop: 68.4 seconds.

“I…” she sighs, “I need you to check it, Santana.”

Somehow I knew that this was going to be the time. I stand up from my chair and grab a latex glove from the box I’d brought in here hours ago. Rachel opens the bottom of her robe and there’s something in the way that she’s so detached about it. She’s not really looking at me but she’s not like deliberately looking away from me either, it really kind of helps. I think momentarily about going to get a speculum and a flashlight and just making this as absolutely clinical as I can, but I’m pretty sure she’d start yelling if I left this job undone even for a minute. Instead I just resume our conversation, “It surprised me when Tina broke up with Mike,” I say just as I press my fingers into her. “It didn’t surprise me when Mike went all campus stud and started banging as many girls as he could get he hands on.” Brittany was right, there’s nothing sexy about this. Rachel’s not wet or hot, I don’t find this pleasing having any sort of control over this situation. I breathe easier as I find her cervix and start measuring. “It did sort of surprise me when Tina went all college lesbian on us… at first anyway.”

“You know very well that Tina identifies as pansexual, Santana,” she says through the obvious discomfort, “And what the hell is take you so long?”

Suddenly she’s staring at me and now it’s weird again, “I’ve never done this before, Rachel, and it’s kind of important that I get it right when the time comes, so I’m taking my time. Deal with it.” She tries to do a Quinn Fabray eyebrow on me but that shit doesn’t even work on me when Quinn does it. “For all four years of college, Tina identified as strictly lesbian. I know because I had to be Lesbian Guru to her far more times than I care to remember, so the moniker still fits.”

I slide my hand out and yank the glove off tossing it in the trashcan. “Four centimeters, chica,” I say, “Hope you’re ready for active labor because you’re about to be in it.”

______________

Rachel takes the ‘active’ part of active labor very literally. After hours lying in bed or in the tub, she’s suddenly up on her feet ready to do any and everything. Her first idea was to go for a walk around the block which was apparently hers and Quinn’s plan of what to do at this stage. I remind her that there’s almost a foot of snow on the ground (thankfully it has _finally_ stopped and the city can finally clear some of out, though not soon enough to save me from having to deliver this kid), that it’s nearly midnight, and also that she’s naked under her robe.

Instead she’s up and walking around the upper and lower levels of their apartment. She’s making me dizzy quite frankly, and I’m just watching her since she insists she can do it herself. She remains upright through two contractions both spaced right at five minutes apart, but when the third one makes her double over, I have to insist we work out a routine for this.

With that in mind, we go back upstairs where Daniel’s room is and I repurpose a yoga ball as birthing ball. For four minutes at a time, I tell Rachel she can be up and walking around but then she has to come back to the ball and relax through her contraction. This works well enough and thankfully Rachel Berry, Professional Singer doesn’t need to be reminded of breathing techniques because that would just be one more thing I don’t feel fully qualified to help her with.

A little over an hour into active labor, Rachel gives up walking around and sticks with the ball. The contractions are taking their toll, I can tell. I check her dilation again and I’m shocked to find that she’s already at five and a half centimeters. I mean I understand that active labor is supposed to progress faster than early labor but… wow!

I check with Dr. Lenara who confirms that it is fast but not anything to be concerned about other than to make all the final preparations for delivery as it will probably be time before we know it. I hang up with her and leave Rachel on her ball to go get everyone teleconferenced in. I turn on the big box thing that sterilizes the instruments and then the warm bath they have for when Daniel needs all the goop washed off. Rachel put water in it earlier but it looks to only be about two inches deep. It doesn’t appear to be leaking or anything and the way her emotions are now I figure it’s best to not question her about it and just assume she knows what she’s doing. I can work with this puddle.

“Hi, baby,” Rachel coos at Quinn’s image on her laptop. Rachel’s climbed up onto the birthing table and is perched up on her legs, her butt sat firmly on her crossed ankles, “It’s so good to see you.” Rachel’s smiling at her like she hasn’t seen her in weeks (It’s been three days and they Skype nightly) and there are unshed tears in her eyes. Hormones are some nasty business at the best of times, pregnancy hormones are something I’m not sure I ever want any part of. Britt wants us to have a family and truthfully I want that too but I’m sort of secretly hoping that she’ll volunteer to be the one to be pregnant, at least the first time around.

“How are you feeling?” Quinn asks.

“Sore,” Rachel says, “Tired.”

“You look tired,” Quinn replies with a smile.

“And what is _that_ supposed to mean?” Rachel asks rather loudly. I assume she’s just had another surge of hormones.

“It means your eyelids are drooping so much I’m surprised you can even see me,” Quinn dodges nicely or maybe that’s what she really meant, I don’t know.

“Oh… yeah,” she mutters, “I miss you, baby. I really wish you were here.”

“I wish I was too,” Quinn says, “I’m so sorry I’m not going to be there to watch our son being born.”

“But you are going to be here,” Rachel says and for a second I wonder if she’s delusional, “You’re going to be right here on the screen talking to me and helping me through this.”

“Of course I am, baby…”

They keep talking but I ignore them in favor of the beautiful blonde who just appeared on the iPad screen. “Hey, babe,” I say, “Where are you guys right now?”

“Hoboken,” she says.

“Jersey? God, I’m sorry. What are you doing there?”

“The bridges and tunnels are still closed and air traffic is still restricted to emergencies only,” Brittany explains, “But the ferries are up and running again, so it’s the only way on or off the island for anyone who isn’t like bleeding to death. There’s tons of people here so I have no idea when we’re actually gonna be back in the city. I think we’re just gonna wait here and keep using their wifi until the baby is born before we even try to get on.”

“Probably a good idea,” I say, “I could really use your smiling face and your warm voice helping me and even if you got on the ferry now, I doubt you’d make it in time since you’d have to walk all the way here from The Port Authority. Waiting should give the city a couple of hours to get the streets plowed and transit back up and running.”

Rachel lets out a startled squeak and says, “Santana! My water broke.” I look up to see her shedding her robe, which is soiled with fluids.

“What are you having a baby or something?” I tease, deflecting at how uncomfortable I truly am.

“I thought I might.” She barely gets her joking response out before another contraction hits her. Quinn reminds her to breathe and Rachel grabs my outstretched right hand. I help her lay back on the table while she squeezes until my hand goes numb. Thankfully I’m left handed.

“Berry, I hate to tell you this,” I say as I can see her pain receding, “but you uncorked all over your fancy delivery table.”

“It was designed for that,” Quinn says, “There’s a drain near the bottom. You should just be able to wipe all the fluid into it, shouldn’t need to re-sterilize or anything, and after the baby’s out there’s a drawer that slides open to catch the placenta.”

“Cool,” I say grabbing for a roll of paper towels.

“Santana,” Dr. Lenara says, “You should check her dilation again before you worry about that.”

Another couple of uncomfortable minutes later and Rachel’s at six centimeters. She’s too exhausted to help clean up her amniotic mess on the table so I have to and I swear to God Quinn and Rachel are going to owe me so fucking big after this. If I ever need a fucking kidney or something, I’m getting one from both of them.

“Hey, Rach,” I say, “Did you know that our beautiful wives are currently waiting for their chance to get back onto the island in lovely Hoboken, New Jersey?”

Rachel casts her lazy gaze back to the laptop screen and says, “Quinn, my darling?”

“Yes?”

“One thing…” Rachel says before correcting herself, “No, sorry, two things. Actually four things.”

Brittany interjects, “Well, four things and a lizard.” I smile and wink at her.

Rachel doesn’t get the reference and doesn’t stop what she’s saying to clarify. “Number one, I love you. Number two, I miss you. Number three, I am potentially going to murder Kitty in her sleep and blame baby hormones since she told Marley that I was in labor and Marley in turn told the whole Twitter-verse. And Number Four, due to prolonged time spent in The Armpit of America, I fear that you may have been exposed to airborne Chlamydia, don’t argue with me, it’s a thing, and as such I’m going to need you to undergo an extremely thorough treatment regimen before I’m going to let you hold our son.”

Quinn “Whipped” Fabray just answers, “Yes, dear.” Though to be fair, we’ve all stopped arguing with Rachel, at least for the time being.

Meanwhile, I’m busy losing my shit laughing at that ramble and fucking airborne Chlamydia and Rachel’s New York snobbery, which is even worse than my own, probably worse than anyone who wasn’t born here, so I almost miss Brittany waggling her eyebrows. “What?” I ask her.

“Why didn’t you tell me that New Jersey is The Armpit of America?”

“Um, I don’t know…?”

“I just think that’s really unfair of you to keep this from me for so long,” Brittany says, “You _know_ how much I like armpits.”

"Brittany, stop making sexy talk," I say, "This is awkward enough as is with Berry naked here in front of me."

"You know, San, if you wanted I could be the pregnant woman that you're so attracted to," she says with another waggle of her eyebrows.

I smile automatically and I can feel all the blood rush to my face. I'm not sure how much it actually shows through my dark completion but I'm certain that Brittany knows anyway. "Let's...let's get this one out of Rachel first before we worry about ours, okay?"

"Okay," she says, "But just so you know I already got the number of the sperm bank Q and Rach used."

__________________

It’s an hour and change later, well past 2 am, and everyone is wiped out. Rachel is exhausted, both mentally and physically, from being in labor for almost eleven hours now. I’m mentally exhausted from all the reading I’ve done and my body is starting to wind down too since we’re coming on eighteen hours of being awake. I have no idea how long Quinn and Brittany have been going, but I can see the stress in their faces. It kills them to not be here, especially since they’re just one ferry boat ride away from the island and maybe about a five and a half mile trek back to the house. They know they’ll never make it in time now, even with the snow slowly being cleared, and they also know that’s not where they’re needed. They know that what Rachel needs is most important right now and what Rachel needs is to hear Quinn’s voice and for me to have a level head which means I need Brittany.

This whole situation is so unfair to everybody. Rachel and Quinn planned all of this. They read all the damn books, bought all this equipment, shopped around for the right donor, did all the classes… fucking hell, Quinn became a freaking certified direct-entry midwife just so that _she_ be the one to guide her son into this world. And okay, Rachel can be selfish sometimes, but shit, any woman who grows a goddamn baby inside of her for nine months (or eight and a half, in this case) and still loves it as much as Berry clearly does Daniel then that woman ought to have to the right deliver that baby however the hell she wants.

And then there’s me. There’s so fucking much about this situation I never asked for. I didn’t ask for my best friend and her wife to decide to have a baby at 26, which I guess when your first kid came at sixteen, 26 doesn’t exactly feel like rushing it. I didn’t ask Quinn and Brittany to make Brittany’s short film, nor did I ask them to shoot it in Pittsburg. I didn’t ask or even volunteer to be Rachel’s nursemaid, but I owed Quinn from like a million other things over the last however many years. I didn’t ask for the snow storm. Strictly speaking I never even really asked to be friends with Rachel, that just came along with being friends with Quinn and I wasn’t going to be the bitch that makes Quinn split time between me and Rachel, mostly because I know I’d lose out in that scenario, even before Q got the balls to tell Rachel how she felt about her.

Not that I blame Rachel for any of this. She didn’t ask for the snow storm any more than I did, she didn’t decide to go into labor at like the least convenient time possible, and she only ever asked to be friends with me for 42 days at the end of our senior year of high school. The rest of it just sort of came with being friends with and eventually falling in love with Q. I guess it just goes to show that you don’t get to choose your family. Sometimes even the family of your choosing winds up choosing you without your consent.

What seems like Rachel’s five hundredth contraction passes and Dr. Lenara tells Rachel that she’s going to be coming up on the transition phase which sounds like utter hell to these ears, contractions lasting up to two minutes with possibly as little downtime as one minute in between, heavy likelihood of vomiting or shitting herself. As soon as she mentions this I move away from that end of Rachel. I’ve been puked on before, I can handle _that_ , and once upon a time, way back in high school, I puked on Rachel so that would only be karmic.

It turns out to be not as bad as all that. Rachel kind of settles into a two-minutes-on/two-minutes-off cycle, which is still hell on her, no poop and only just a tiny bit of vomit, all of which misses me, and only lasts about fifteen minutes (instead of a possible 45), then we’re into the actual delivery. Dr. Lenara goes over what I need to do when he starts emerging, all of which I’ve read in the last few hours but a refresher never hurts, especially when it’s coming up on 3 am. Meanwhile Quinn is trying to help Rachel find a comfortable position in which to push, apparently there’s more than one. All the while, Brittany just looks at me and smiles brightly at me whenever I cast a weary glance at her.

Whenever her contractions come Rachel makes the most inhuman sounds in the fucking world, or at least it sounds inhuman but I guess it’s just what someone sounds like when they’re trying to yell or scream when their jaw is clenched shut.

Eventually I lose all track of time. I’m not clocking the duration of contractions anymore, nor am I watching the clock for time in between. When she’s contracting, I encouraging her to push and when she’s not, I’m trying to help her relax. Quinn helps her with her breathing because I never learned any of that. Dr. Lenara keeps giving me updates on how far along we are and how much longer she thinks it will be but I’m beyond caring. Daniel will be here when he gets here and until then I’m here.

Also, Brittany was right. I absolutely no longer sexualize Rachel’s nudity. She’s been naked for hours and it barely even registers now. I’ve been staring at her naked vagina for some indeterminate length of time and I could honestly care less. In the back of my mind I momentarily wonder if this experience is going to shift my opinion on the hotness of pregnant women.

I take a deep calming breath and hold it for as long as I can, pushing all extraneous thoughts away. I exhale and turn to the screen with Brittany's smiling face. "Tell me I can do this," I say softly.

"You can _do_ this,” she says, “You can do _anything_ , Santana," Again there's not a second's hesitation or even the slightest trace of doubt. She believes in me I remind myself. She believes me capable of so much, things I never thoughts myself capable of and Quinn and Rachel trust me with this, too.

"Thank you, baby."

_________________

"Holy shit, I can see his head!" It's at least an hour since she started pushing, like I said, I've lost all sense of time. "Rachel, I can see his fucking head! We're almost there!" I realize it's ridiculous how excited I am by Daniel's crowning but fuck it, I'm pumped to be an aunt and I'm really looking forward to sleeping sometime soon.

"So tired," Rachel says not even mustering enough energy for a complete three word sentence or to chastise me for cursing near her son, both testaments to how much this whole ordeal has taken out of her.

"I know you're tired, Rach," Quinn says, assuming her wifely reassurance duties, "but you're almost done."

"Plus your little dude is almost here," Brittany picks up, "And you've got to be excited to meet him. I know I am."

I'm jittery I'm so excited for this kid's emergence. "Just relax and breathe, Rachel," I say, "and get ready for another big push. When he's out you can talk a little nap and I can feed him."

"I can feed my own son, Santana," she snaps at me.

"Just offering," I say.

Her next contraction hits before she can say anything back. Quinn, Brittany, and Dr. Lenara all tell her to push while I just focus on Daniel. When he stops moving most of his forehead is clear of Rachel and I can see he has a full head of dark hair.

The next push comes a couple of minutes later and his whole head is clear by the time it's done. It's hard to make any distinctions about who he looks like at this point since he kind of has that same pinched newborn face that all babies have, but he's easily the most amazing thing I've ever seen.

"You're almost done, Rach," I say, "One more big push and you should clear the shoulders and I can get him out after that." She mumbles something incoherent and I grab for the blanket I'll need to wrap him up.

The time between contractions is suddenly dragging by. I see that Rachel is all nerves, exhausted and scared of how much this last push is going to hurt. I'm still worried that something's going to go wrong or that I'm going to drop him. I'm also really excited, almost as excited as Daniel's mothers are.

It's only a couple of minutes, though it seems longer, before the last (hopefully) big push is on us. Again Dr. Lenara and Quinn tell Rachel to push as hard as she can. I don't hear Brittany so that probably means she's focusing on me, quietly supportive.

I shut out the voices and Rachel's grunts of pain which I'm sure are terrible and focus on what's in front of me. When Daniel's shoulders start to push through, I reach up with the blanket to take hold of him and support his head as Rachel does as much as she can. She clears his shoulders and suddenly he comes sliding out in my hands. It's actually a little bit alarming how quickly he emerges but I’ve got him. "I've got him," I announce, "He's out!"

Rachel sighs and the flops back on the delivery table heavily. I know she must be exhausted. Hell, _I'm_ exhausted and I didn't just push a baby out of me. Fortunately, her work is done, for the most part. I've still got some fairly important shit to do.

Dr. Lenara talks me through making sure his airways are clear and I check his heartbeat and breath sounds which I actually remembered from a first aid class I took way back in middle school. His breath sounds are faint but the doctor tells me that's normal since his lungs about the size of my thumb. "You want to cut the cord, Rachel?" I look up when she doesn't answer and find her eyes closed and her mouth hanging open.

"I think she passed out," Quinn says. I make sure to verify that her chest is rising and falling. "You should cut it, anyway. You deserve it." It's a little awkward holding him while also pulling the cord tight with one hand while clamping and then cutting the cord with my non-dominant right hand but I manage it.

"Santana," Dr. Lenara says, "Can you set Daniel in the bassinet for a minute and check Rachel's blood pressure for me?"

"Sure thing," I say. I set him down in the cradle and he starts fussing immediately. "Relax, Danny Boy, I'll be right back. I've got to check on your mama."

I wrap the cuff around her arm and begin to inflate it. I haven't done this over ten years so I hope I'm doing it right, so I do it twice and come up with the same results both times, “95 over 65, that’s low right?”

“A little bit,” Dr. Lenara says, “Quinn, can you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Can you walk Santana though giving Rachel IV fluids?”

“Sure,” Quinn says obviously not sure why Dr. Lenara needs her to do it and I’m honestly a little curious myself.

“I’m at Queens Memorial,” she says, “They’re going to let me tag along on a chopper ride into the city. I’ve been assured that enough of the streets are cleared that I can get to you guys in a reasonable amount of time. I want to check on Rachel and Daniel and strictly speaking I’m supposed to be present when I sign off on Daniel’s birth certificate.”

Quinn explains how to set up an IV and then I get all the stuff, including a blanket for Rachel. The pain from the needle piercing her skin is enough bring Rachel around. “What’s wrong?! Where’s Daniel? Why is he crying?”

“He’s fine,” I say, “I’m trying to set you up an IV and then I’ll get Daniel cleaned up and dried off, and I’ll bring him over for cuddle time, okay?”

Quinn takes over explaining why Rachel needs fluids and reassuring her that their baby is fine so that I can get back to him. He stops fussing when I pick him up again. Yeah, this dude knows what’s up, knows his Aunt Tana already. I move him over to the warm bath thing to rinse all the gunk off of him and it’s funny, earlier I didn’t think there was enough water in here and now with my little nephew in my hands I’m worried that I’m somehow going to accidentally drown the tiny dude in an inch and half of warm water.

I get him settled in and he seems to like it in the water, probably reminds him of the womb. I’m just about to get him all cleaned up when Rachel barks, “I’d like to see my son sometime today, Santana.”

I look down at Daniel and smile at him because you kinda can't help but smile at this kid. "Can you tell Mommy that we're almost done getting you clean and to chill out? Chill out, Mommy."

"I'm Mommy," Quinn says.

"Yes, I'm Mama," Rachel says, "And hurry up before he imprints on you instead of Quinn and I."

"Berry," I say pulling Daniel out of the bath and putting him on the scale, "I know you have a very high opinion of your son but don't take my head off for saying this. He's a boy and like most boys once you let him latch onto one of those tits, he'll forget all about any other girl."

Rachel's face is epic and I can see the rant building up, ready to explode but she doesn't want to yell in front of her newborn son. Instead, it's Quinn's voice that chimes in. "Thanks Santana, that's just what every second parent wants to hear."

"Oh whatever," I say as I put the world's tiniest diaper on him, "You're going to teach this kid to ready... probably starting like next week or something... and he's going to love you forever for that alone, to say nothing all the other awesome mom shit you're both going to do." I swaddle the kid like a fucking champ and pick him up. "Hola sobrinito, suy tu tia Santana y yo estoy mas fresca que su madres."

I finally hand him off to Rachel. I reach back and grab up the iPad to hold it up so that Brittany can see him. She coos and awws along with Rachel and Quinn at every adorable thing he does. "How big is he?" Quinn asks.

"He weights eight pounds, eleven-point-three ounces," I tell her. "I couldn't really measure him by myself so I figure we can do that when the doctor's here. He's not going to grow between now and then."

"...And this is your Aunt Brittany," Rachel says to Daniel while pointing at the screen in my hands.

"Hi, tiny human," she says, "Don't freak out, I'm not just a head in a box. I've my own body. Not that being a head in a box isn't a valid form of existence, it's just not for me. You don't know this yet, but you are _so_ lucky. You have the best moms and the best aunts anyone could ever want."

"The only ones who are going to have it better," I say, "Are going to be your little cousins who have us for parents and your moms for aunts."

"So you guys are thinking about having kids, then?" Rachel asks.

"More like planning," I say, "One thing's for sure though, we're going to aim for a summer birth so no one can be snowed in or snowed out of town, and if I'm the one getting pregnant, I'm giving birth in a hospital with doctors and epidurals." Technically Daniel was supposed to bed born in mid March but I'm thinking we aim for like July.

"I don’t know,” Brittany says, “I think I like the idea of having a baby at home, especially if we make Quinn catch for us, since you already caught for them.”

“Sounds fair to me,” says Quinn.


End file.
